Puppets on a Broken String
by Thistledownwind
Summary: TV based After the longest day of the Tracy boy's lives, their mother is dead. With Jeff distraught with grief, the Tracy brothers must look to each other for strength.


**A/N: First Thunderbirds fic, so please be nice! This story was inspired when, while at my Grandmother's house, I stumble across some old Thunderbirds albums, including profiles of the boys. In these profiles the figure of Lucille Tracy is briefly mentioned by each of the boys, each with incredible affection. Well, I just couldn't resist!**

**This story revolves around all of the boys, and how they grew to be the heroes of International Rescue, and most importantly, how they rely on each other. Jeff and Grandma Tracy also feature (of course! I love Grandma Tracy!).**

**Disclaimer: Owning it would be FAB. Unfortunately, I'm not as lucky as a certain Gerry Anderson (glares).**

**Summary: Lucille Tracy is dead; with Jeff distraught with grief, the Tracy brothers look to each other for strength; joining hands and walking blindly through the darkness together. **

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter one: The Longest Day**

_February 5th, 2047._

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick, tick, tick, tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock…

Dong.

A deep, woeful toll chimed, reverberating about the living room with empty clarity. A moment of complete silence; as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for something, anything. But nobody moved. Disappointed but seemingly unperturbed, the tall mahogany clock continued on its way, a thin, brass hand gliding over carved roman numerals with proud precision.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Beside the fireplace, thirteen year old Scott Tracy stood rigidly tense, leaning against the cold marble of the mantel. Brow furrowed, he gazed unseeing into the swirling depths of the fire, drawing invisible patterns in the glowing embers. Sounds, people's names, meaningless nonsense filled his aching head. He felt numb, though his heart pounded fiercely in his chest, choking him.

"Scotty?"

A very small, confused voice piped up from somewhere around the area of his feet. Startled, Scott shook himself from his reverie and glanced down at a mop of dark auburn hair which concealed his second youngest brother's face. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and managed a weak smile as he knelt down beside Gordon.

"Yeah, squirt?"

Gordon gazed uncertainly up at him with large, liquid amber eyes which seemed far too big for his face. The just turned five year old swallowed thickly, eyes darting about the room, taking in the two other figures who remained quite still, as though frozen. He hesitated.

"I want Mommy."

He whispered, so quietly that it would have been lost had the room not been so unbearably silent. Scott felt his heart skip a beat, and shot his younger brother Virgil a quick glance, hoping for some reaction, anything. But the ten year old did not even twitch, and certainly did not look up from where he had laid his head on his folded arms, gazing off into space, lost in thought. Scott felt a stab of cold despair fill his heart as he knelt down and pulled Gordon onto his lap.

"Mommy can't come right now, Gordy. I said so earlier, remember?"

Gordon bit his lip, and slowly nodded, wriggling around until he was satisfied he was comfortable. After a few moments of quiet, his thumb automatically drifted to his mouth, and he leant back against his eldest brother's chest, eyes drooping.

Silence reigned once more.

"The witching hour."

Scott once again started in surprise, and craned his neck to see over the couch to the windowsill, where the flaxen haired middle Tracy brother sat with bare feet dangling just millimetres above the polished hardwood. Scott followed his brother's pale finger, which was pointing towards the grandfather clock. The hands indicated a single minute past midnight.

"John?"

He said in confusion. The eight year old smiled weakly, allowing his hand to drop back to his side, his pale face seeming far older than his years should allow. Dark shadows lingered beneath steely grey eyes, belying his exhaustion.

"See? Just past twelve in the morning. From here until one, it's the witching hour."

Scott smiled fondly at him, and nodded with almost genuine interest.

"I see."

He answered, softly. Gordon shifted in his lap, snuggling further into his stomach, his chest shuddering with suppressed giggles which were smothered by his thumb.

"You're so weird, Johnny."

He sniggered, the sound slightly muffled. John blinked, his expression unchanging, but Scott could see the slight hurt in his brother's eyes. John seemed to visibly fold himself away, drawing his knees up to his chest and shying back towards the window pane, eying the room warily. Scott sighed. He hated it when John got like this.

"That's not true, Gordon. I think the things you tell us are really interesting, Johnny. Tell us more. What happens in the witching hour?"

John was shy by nature; with four noisy brothers, it was natural that the middle child became introspective. Although he was usually able at least to speak his mind, and he did have a temper, even if he hid it away most of the time. He only ever became this isolated when something really terrible had happened. Usually, only their Mother was ever able to draw John back out of his shell.

Not this time.

John hesitated, and lowered his gaze to the floor, before speaking in a hesitant voice which sounded horribly thin in the cold quiet.

"It's said that witches and spirits and ghosts walk among us, because they're at their most powerful now. Black magic is strongest just after a day ends and another dawns. And…"

John trailed off, and Virgil looked up for the first time, his dark eyes narrowing in concern. Scott shifted his aching arms, trying not to disturb a dozing Gordon, and gently prompted his faltering brother.

"And?"

John's eyes widened almost in fear, and he shook his head violently, ash blond hair dancing around his pale face in disarrayed desperation.

"No. No, nothing. It's silly."

He murmured hastily, turning to glance out of the window and up at the stars in the cloudless sky outside. Spirals of mist began to fog up the window pane as his hot breath steamed up the glass. Scott suppressed a sigh as the heavy blanket of waiting descended upon them once again.

"Alright."

Virgil suddenly shivered, and huddled further into the confines of the couch, drawing his thick jumper even closer about him.

"Virgil? You cold?"

Virgil shook his head absently, eyes downcast, refusing to look at his eldest brother. Scott felt his neck prickle with cold, though the room itself was not chilly. He drew a breath, and decided to have yet another stab at breaking this insufferable silence.

"Okay. Who wants a drink?"

He said, louder than necessary, and Gordon stirred in his lap, grumbling. Virgil declined politely, Gordon muttered something intelligible, and John paused before sliding slowly from the windowsill and padding softly over to the large open doorway which led to the kitchen.

"I'll get one for you."

He said by way of explanation, and Scott nodded, smiling his gratitude a little stiffly. At least somebody was _doing _something rather than just sitting about.

"Thanks, John."

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

God, how he wished Dad was here.

-----

Virgil Tracy fidgeted distractedly with the hem of his left sleeve, tugging at the loose threads and twirling them around his fingers. He watched John leave the room out of the corner of his eye, before shooting a quick glance at his older brother. Scott looked about as bad as Virgil felt. His bright blue eyes were unnaturally dulled, and his shoulders were hunched over with an exhaustion that ran deeper than weariness. Virgil bit his lip.

"Scott?"

Scott did not look up.

"Yes, Virgil?"

Virgil's gaze strayed to the mantelpiece, where a neat line of silver framed photographs documented the lives of a happy family. He swallowed, tearing his eyes away from the first picture, one of their parents wedding day.

"About…what happened…did Dad-"

At that moment, the phone trilled three sharp rings in quick succession. Nobody moved. It rang again, seeming even louder than before, as though it was demanding attention. John appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, white-knuckled fingers clenched around the wooden doorframe. Virgil watched as Scott drew a long breath, and carefully gathered Gordon up off his lap and into his arms before rising.

"Virg, take Gordon for a minute, would you?"

Virgil nodded mutely, his throat suddenly closing up, as Scott passed a droopy eyed Gordon to him. Gordon immediately settled on Virgil's knees, yawning widely. To him, apparently, one brother's lap was good as another. As Scott headed out into the hall and the ringing stopped, Virgil felt a brittle hand settle on his shoulder, and felt the couch head shift as John leant against the back, settling in close. The Tracy brothers had an automatic tendency to huddle when feeling threatened.

From the hall, the three brothers heard Scott clear his throat uneasily before speaking in slightly shaky tones.

"Tracy residence, Scott Tracy speaking. Can I- Dad? Where are you?"

Virgil felt John give a little start beside him, and refrained from tensing himself. John shifted over a bit, turning his head to stare at the empty doorway, listening intently. There was a pause which felt like it stretched for eternity.

"No, um…we're all fine. Alan's in bed, I was going to send Gordon up soon…no. No, Dad, really. We couldn't sleep anyway. How's…"

Virgil swallowed as Scott's voice lowered.

"…how's Mom? Is she okay?"

A horrible silence.

"Oh…okay…"

From what Virgil could tell, Scott sounded half relieved, half disappointed. John tapped Virgil gently on the shoulder, and Virgil turned to look at him. John's grey blue eyes looked at him inquiringly, wide with fear, and he jerked his head towards the direction of the hall in question. Virgil managed the tiniest of smiles, and nodded reassuringly.

"Okay. Thanks, Dad. I will…yeah. Bye."

The resounding click of the receiver being replaced sounded, and Virgil sighed, relaxing a little. John bent his skinny legs and vaulted abruptly over the back of the couch, sliding down to sit beside his brothers. Gordon muttered something and shifted a little, seemingly troubled even in sleep. After a little while, the sound of Scott's heavy footsteps echoed about the house. He entered, face pale and haggard, seeming suddenly far older than he had ever done before.

Scott regarded each of his brothers in turn from the doorway, before sighing quietly, and moving further into the room. He sat down carefully in the armchair nearest to the door, and pinched the bridge of his nose in an uncanny resemblance to his Father. Virgil and John waited in tense silence. Scott let out a long, slow breath.

"There's been no change. The Doctor's say it could go either way; Dad said he'd call us the moment…if anything…happens."

Virgil felt his chest go cold, and his breath caught in his chest. His brow furrowed, and drew Gordon closer to him. Beside him, John was gazing at his eldest brother with a strangely blank expression. His eyes had darkened to a dead grey, and he shakily unfolded his legs from beneath him and stood unsteadily, moving slowly over to stand directly in front of Scott.

John was visibly shaking.

"Is…"

His thin voice faltered, and he took an unsure step forward, gazing at Scott with a pleading, desperate expression. He rested a hand on the arm of the chair, fingers fisting in the worn material.

"Is she…dying?"

Scott stiffened almost imperceptibly, placing his own hand over his little brother's trembling one. He shook his head slowly, a little despairingly. Virgil noted with detached fascination that Scott's hand was a lot larger than John's. Larger, but not that of an adults. Yet Scott seemed to bear the troubles of a thousand fully grown men tonight.

"I don't know, Johnny."

He whispered. A loud, piercing wail filled he house, coming from somewhere upstairs. Scott, Virgil and John all glanced up at the ceiling, recognising the unmistakable sound of a grumpy Alan Tracy waking with bad humour. The cries continued, but for a moment, nobody moved.

"Shall I fetch him, Scott?"

John asked uncertainly, and Scott nodded, clearly relieved to have an excuse to avoid any more awkward conversations. John seemed to be thinking along the same lines, as he straightened his back and headed for the hall. When he was halfway up the stairs, Scott called after him.

"Be careful with the cot latch, remember."

"I will."

Came the answering call, and Virgil sighed, rocking Gordon absently as his little brother began to stir at the continued wailing. He glanced at the clock for what felt like the nineteen hundredth time, noting that it was only two minutes since had last looked.

This was going to be a very, very long day.

-----

John skipped up the stairs two at a time, grabbing the smooth spherical wooden head of the banister and swinging himself around to face his youngest brother's room. At the end of the corridor, the baby-blue coloured door stood slightly ajar, little painted yellow ducks frozen mid-quack. John spared them a slightly disturbed look, before slipping inside, enjoying the feel of a soft carpet beneath his bare feet.

"Donny!"

The wailing stopped with this abrupt, excited exclamation, and Alan Tracy bounced up and down on chubby legs, pudgy hands fisted about a white cot rail. John smiled and headed over to the cot, leaning down so he was on a level with the giggling toddler.

"Hey, Allie. What'cha crying for?"

John asked, chucking Alan under the chin, his most ticklish spot, and Alan squirmed in delight, watching avidly as his older brother carefully lifted the latch on the cot and scooped the toddler up into his arms.

"Don, Don, Don…"

Alan sang his own variation of his brother's name over and over excitedly as John struggled to re-attach the latch on the cot while simultaneously holding his brother. Alan just seemed to get bigger and heavier with each passing day, and unfortunately for John, he himself was not getting any stronger. Scott had even started calling him 'weedy beanstalk' because apparently he was too skinny. Cheek.

"What's the matter, little buddy? You hungry?"

John asked quietly, bouncing the child absently up and down. Alan giggled, and batted at his brother's face, before seeming to sense the lingering sadness which John was unable to mask completely. The little boy's face fell, and his bottom lip started to tremble as he suddenly remembered who had not come to wake up, rather than who had.

"Na, Donny. Allie wan' Momma. Where Momma?"

John froze, took a deep breath, and felt his heart skip a beat in his chest. He swallowed dryly, and licked his lips, trying to find words which could satisfy the boisterous youngest Tracy.

"Momma…"

He faltered, and cleared his throat, abruptly turning and heading towards the door as he spoke.

"Mom can't come right now, Allie. C'mon. You…want some milk?"

He said, half-choking on the words. Alan sensed his brother's distress, and in an uncharacteristic gesture of maturity which he was unaware of, solemnly rubbed a clumsy hand against John's cheek.

"Donny sad? Donny 'kay?"

He said, clearly a little scared to see his normally stoic older brother so shaken up. John managed a smile, and harshly berated himself internally. He was supposed to be the strong one here; not Alan. Not his little brother.

"Yes, Allie. I'm okay."

He said, with as much conviction as he could muster, carefully making his way slowly back down the stairs. When he was about halfway down, Alan suddenly piped up again, nearly making John drop him in surprise.

"Why Donny sad?"

John felt his legs buckle, and sat down abruptly on the edge of a stair. His arms around his brother loosened, and Alan slipped down to settle in his lap, gazing worryingly up at him with pale blue eyes large as saucers.

"Because…"

John trailed off, a bitter smile playing at the edge of his lips. He so wished he could be like Alan; younger, sheltered, blissfully unaware of the harsh reality of life. Why her? Of all the people there, that day, at that moment, why her?

"Because I miss Mom, Allie. Just like you."

Alan scrambled around, a petulant frown plastering his face as he concentrated, and manoeuvred himself so that he was facing his brother. For a moment, he looked hesitantly unsure, before his face broke into a wide, front-toothless smile.

"Don' wowwy, Donny. Allie be big and strong and no go wa wa. Allie be good, an' Momma will come. See? Donny mus'nt be sad."

John blinked surprise, smiled, then laughed quietly, pulling his little brother carefully to him and ruffling Alan's sandy hair fondly. He wished that was true. He wished he could have as much faith as Alan did.

"Alright, Alan. I'll try not to be sad."

At that moment, the phone rang for the second, and not the last, time that morning.

-----

**A/N: Comments are appreciated, so please review! Should I continue? Either way, thanks for reading!**


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